The Final Curtain Call
by MaplePucks
Summary: Mr. Grelle Sutcliff is tired of living his Victorian lie. What really is so wrong about a man who loved to dress in pretty cloths? And who liked to wear makeup. And lots of red. Was it so bad to dream of being referred to as "Lady Sutcliff"? Apparently to his overbearing father it was. Not for long. Only one thing was sweet enough to save Grelle. Poison.


**Hello everyone! A Black Butler fic for you today! I think this is my first Black Butler fic too. Yay!**

 **This is based off the manga, well, a bit of information that is in the manga. Which is why I used the "e" spelling for Grelle. That's how it is in the manga. Sorry people who prefer, "Grell".**

 **For reference, it's Black Butler Volume 22, page 32.**

 **Enjoy, comment, fave! All good things!**

* * *

Everyone has that moment when they are little. When they discover just how unique and not like everyone else they are. It's a natural thing, it usually comes about age eight or nine, depending.

For Grelle Sutcliff, he knew at the age of five he was different from most little boys.

He and his mother were out shopping, passing the prettily light windows, advertising their wares when it caught his eye. He practically drug his mother into on coming carriage traffic to get across to see it. A pretty red bonnet. Made of the finest lace, with a silk tie underneath the chin. Grelle pressed his face to the window, a small, brown haired, wide eyed boy, staring at a bonnet. Telling his mother he wanted it beyond measure.

Oh, he begged and pleaded. Threw a small tantrum, stamped his foot, caused a scene. His mother had no choice but to go inside a purchase the bonnet. The shop keeper had the nerve to ask if it was for her daughter. His mother looked so embarrassed to say that no, actually, it was for her son, as she handed the package to Grelle. Of course, he made her put it on him right away. He couldn't be happier.

Those people in the street, they said such nasty things to his mother as they walked home. Why would she put her little boy in a bonnet? She must have wanted a girl, that poor child. Bad parenting. Horrid parenting. He should be taken away from her. What did they know? It was him who wanted the bonnet. Let them say those things. He didn't care what others thought. His mother shouldn't either.

Later that evening, when his father got home, he'd learn just how much others cared about what others thought.

Grelle was the son of a prominent politician in the area. He was well known, well liked and vying for a seat in the parliament once again. He was careful to avoid any scandal at all. Of course, being a child, Grelle didn't know this. He was perfectly content playing in his bonnet, greeting his father with a smile when he returned home, asking if he liked the bonnet.

Things in the Sutcliff house turned ugly fast. His father talked to his mother, she was slapped roughly as a result, and scolded. But a fate much worst was in store for Grelle.

The bonnet was torn from his head, along with a few hairs, Grelle remembered the pain. He also remembered the glare in his father's eye. Grelle cowered, he had actually cowered under his father. The bonnet was thrown into the fire burning happily away in the fireplace.

"No son of mine is going to dress in frilly girl attire and parade through town! You are a man, Grelle!"

That one outburst stuck with Grelle for the rest of his short life. Not that it changed him in anyway, it only added fuel to his passion. His passion to be different.

The bonnet was only the start of a deeper trend in Grelle's life. In elementary school, he noticed how he was drawn to play with the girls dollies. How he liked to dress them up (usually in that pretty red color) and play house. Other boys played in the mud and were pirates, daring and sword fighting. Grelle just couldn't bring himself to participate in something like that. It was far too rough. He might get his pretty face hurt!

He loved girls dress's and in private, when his father couldn't hear him, he'd call himself Lady Grelle. Miss Sutcliff. He fancied himself being a lady, not a man that his father wanted him to be.

There was a moderate level of bullying from his grade school classmates but it wasn't somehing he could not handle. The same could not be said for his teenage years and what was suppose to be his formative years in school. They were relentless, Grelle was always picked on, beat and pushed around. Over time, he built up a wall around himself. Nobody. Absolutely nobody was allowed on the inside of his wall. It was his protection, his comfort. He was shy, kept to himself and that's how he liked it.

Around this time, he had also begun to grow his hair. A little at first, but soon enough, it was at his shoulders. He loved flipping it with his fingers, throwing his head back as he tried a small, girlish laugh at the same time. He felt prettier, more complete. That was until his father made him cut it. All of it. Not under his roof, he bellowed. Grelle had been crushed, and right then and there, he had made up his mind on what he wanted to do.

All of that, his whole life had lead up to this moment. This night. Meticulous planning and careful dancing around people had lead to this night. Moving out a short time ago, under his father's orders not to do this or that. But, in the last two or three months he had been doing the this and the that his father had forbidden. It didn't matter any more. Not in slightest. Growing his hair out, wearing makeup, buying pretty dresses. For the first time in his twenty five years on this earth, he was happy.

Happy because tonight was going to be the end. He would never have to be unhappy again.

Grelle paced his living room, he heeled knee high boots clicking on the hardwood as he walked. Nearly time. There was just enough time to get into his dress and put on his makeup before his curtain call. Part of him was excited! This would be the best show of his life. Part of him wished he would be around to hear the ravenous reviews. He shivered with excitement, letting out a low growl that he become accustom to making then raced into his bedroom.

The dress was already picked out, he took it lovingly from the closet. The lace was just perfect, he ran his long fingers along one of the tendrils down the back of the dress. Floor length, a vibrant red with black trim. It had cost him a small fortune but it was worth every cent. A woman has to look her best at every occasion and next to her wedding day, this night was the most important fashion choice of her life. He had to make sure he was pristine.

Slowly, he pulled his robe off, letting the silk material flow away from his skin like water. He'd miss the feeling, to be sure, but tonight was far bigger than the feeling of silk. Grelle took a deep satisfying breath and stood there for a moment, soaking it in. If not for his heeled shoes, garter belts and silken underwear, he would be entirely naked. His hands ran across the supple and taunt skin of his stomach. With a gentle giggle, he recalled his initial idea for the evening and with it the relief that he had chosen something more fitting. To mar this perfect skin with something so brutish and cold would be a sin higher then the one he was planning to commit!

With not a moment now to waste, he slipped on the dress, forgoing albeit reluctantly the corset he was fond of. There just wasn't time to work himself into it, and he had so perfected the method. He pulled the dress over his shallow hips, sliding his arms into the delicate lace sleeves. One advantage he did have over other females was that he could slip the dress on already buttoned up in the back as he didn't have large breasts to get in the way. Yes, it did hang awkwardly about his shoulders but he rather liked the emaciated look it gave him. A dainty lady couldn't be too heavy.

One last spin in front of the mirror. He tutted as he flipped his hair, just shoulder length. He had not had the time to grow it longer, election season arrived soon after he made his plans. Oh well, somethings couldn't be helped. The rest of him looked fabulous. He applied a bit of mascara to his lashes, a smidgen of rouge to brighten his pale cheeks and highlight the rest of his pale face and then his favorite. His sinfully red lipstick. Yes, he knew a refined woman would be aghast at the thought, a fashion choice reserved for the prostitutes and lower class. But then, this was his way of admitting to himself what he was doing was morally wrong. Pretending to be a woman when God had so cruelly given him the genitalia of a man. This whole world and it's society of bigots could go to Hell, he thought as he applied the devils color to his lips.

No matter. No matter at all.

Checking his watch, Grelle gasped and rushed back out to his sitting area. He grabbed a bottle of wine that had a ribbon around it's neck and a tag that was even more telling. A deep breath, he uncorked the bottle, easy as it had previously been uncorked. No turning back no. Another deep breath.

Then an even deeper swig from the bottle.

Grelle gulped greedily, as if he had been deprived water for ages. It burned, it satisfied, and it terrified him all at once. An interesting feeling to be chugging down ones death.

Half the bottle was gone and when he stopped to take a breath, he was unsure if the desperate drinking had made him dizzy or if was the poisonous cyanide in the drink. He shakily poured some in a wine glass next to the bottle and then moved over to the window. Right on time, the constable was just passing under his window on his nightly rounds.

It was showtime and the curtain call, all at once. Grelle grinned as he smashed the full glass to the floor and swooned, opening the window with the heavy push of his falling body.

"Oh… help me! Someone! I-I've been poisoned! Q-quickly… " He yelled out. He failed his arms quite pointlessly as the constable had stopped to look up. The man gasped as did several curiously morbid onlookers who had heard Grelle's cry.

"Madame!" He seemed to pause at the word with a wondering look at Grelle but nodded at once. "Your room number, if you please! I shall help you!" He called. Grelle choked and sputtered, it was beginning to be hard to breathe.

"R-room 45. P-please the door is open, hurry!" He gasped out, reaching up to pull at the neck line of his dress. He knew it would do no good, but this was scarier then he had predicted. He watched the policeman run into the building and then he collapsed on the floor.

His little apartment began to spin around him, and he was aware of every feeling in his body. His struggling lungs that felt too small. His racing heart that threatened to explode from his chest and run away from him. His skin was beading with unladylike sweat, an unfortunate side effect but it couldn't be helped. Grelle felt his muscles began to tighten and seize, not yet, he urged them to relax. "I-I have another line of dialogue, i-if you please." He whispered to himself.

His door bust open several minutes later, Grelle looked over, his vision hooded and darkening. The big strong man picked up him and held him in his arms. It was a lovely feeling, even if the man was wholly unattractive by Grelle's standards. Ah yes, even close to death he still had an eye for attractive men.

He did hear the constable gasp as realization hit him that Grelle was indeed a man. But the convulsions had started in full and with a satisfied sigh, Grelle knew the man couldn't put him down. For dramatic effect, he placed his hand tenderly on the gentleman's chest. A flinch. Grelle closed his eyes for good, only fitting, this society had flinched at him his whole life. But he took a shaky breath and nodded to the smashed wine glass.

"A-A gift from," He gurgled, beginning to spit up blood. His heart slowed. "M-my father. Poisoned, no doubt… h-he never liked me much. MP… Sutcliff..." He breathed his last, falling limp.

"Ma'a- Sir! Stay with me!"

An interesting thing occurred, Grelle though he knew his heart has stopped in that moment, he felt it quicken. Odd. Then a sharp pain in his abdomen. A blue light and what looked like reels of tape came pouring from his body. They slithered up, into the roof of his little apartment. His eyes were wide, he watched with wonder as the policeman seemed not to be affected at all by the strangeness. He put Grelle's body on the floor and rushed for help.

"Grelle Sutcliff." A new voice said, Grelle looked over to see a man in a suit, with long beautiful gray hair. "Age twenty-five. Nothing particularly interesting to note on your life, you lived as a woman in secret. Suicide as cause of death. Anything to say for yourself?"

Grelle felt compelled to answer the questioned asked, instead of asking his own. "Can't say that I have. A rather boring life, wouldn't you agree?"

"Aye, I do agree. You are marked for death." He said, with what Grelle thought was a joyous grin. He pushed a stamper to the page of a book he was reading from and Grelle took a gasp of air and floated away. He now viewed his body from above, hovering with the man. No pain, nothing. Only, freedom. Grelle was confused but strangely happier than he had been before. Death was certainly odd.

"Who are you?" He finally asked of the floating specter beside him.

"They call me Undertaker. Welcome to our ranks, Grim Reaper Grelle Sutcliff."


End file.
